Be the Mortise to My Tenon
by TGIsterek
Summary: Derek and Stiles get partnered for a woodwork project. Chaos ensues...
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Well I'm posting this chapter a couple weeks before my exams, so I probably won't be updating for a few weeks. It's a pretty long fic, and it seems like it's gonna be over 100k. Despite the name and the fairly fluffy premise that it will develop into, this fic will have it's triggering moments that I've been wanting to write for a while so be warned! Enjoy :D**

Stiles didn't know when it happened, but at some stage his mind had finally caught up as to what he was doing. He was sitting in his jeep outside the school, hands gripping the steering wheel and blinking bleary-eyed. He didn't even know how he got here, or even remember getting out of bed this morning.

Was he sleepwalking? Had he driven? Did he fall asleep at the wheel? What if he killed someone? Would he be arrested, and if so, would his father have to arrest him? Holy shit, his dad wouldn't do that would he? Surely he'd protect him, send him out on the lamb. But what if-

He's pulled from his thoughts at the sound of a car horn blaring from somewhere behind him. He looked at the school, groaning lowly at the sight of all his problems in life.

''It's good to be back,'' he sighed, exhausted, twisting the key in the ignition and pulling it out, rubbing his eyes sleepily with his free hand. The first days back were always the worst of the school year, and today was no different. It was the beginning of January, and the first day back after Christmas break. He blinked at his disheveled self in the rear-view mirror and sighed, exiting the car.

He could hear the snow mocking him every time it crunched under his feet. There had been a thick blanket of snow covering the entire town for the past month and a half, and Stiles was counting down the days for spring. He couldn't wait to see greens and reds and yellows instead of white and grey. More importantly, he couldn't wait to finish fighting off the cold he's been plagued with.

He sniffled as he walked, the air cold and uninviting. All he wants is to be wrapped up in a blanket at home, like when he was a kid and his mom would make him hot chocolate and snuggle up next to him on the couch to watch movies together. What he'd give to go back ten years, anything to see her in the flesh one last time.

He pushed the thoughts away, deciding he already felt bad enough without heavy thoughts like that clouding his mind.

He had Econ first thing today, and that was always a joy, especially since Coach took over as his teacher. As if his morning couldn't get any worse, he could see the twins watching him from the corner of his eyes. Ethan and Aiden Jones. He's received more thumps, elbows, kicks and tackles from them than he'd care to count. Hell, he even got a swirly once.

He didn't think that was a thing outside of TV shows

Lacrosse practices are like a field day for them, they can tackle him as much as they want without so much as a blink from Coach. He hopes the weather means that practice has been cancelled until further notice. He should be so lucky.

He walks to his locker, hearing the faint whispers of his classmates about some sort of prank they've done on Coach. He can't wait to hear what kind of ''original'' or ''innovative'' prank they've pulled this time. It can't be as bad as the final day of being sophomores last year, when they egged him and dumped flour on him. Like he said; ''original''. They could have at least took some inspiration from the Halloween prank he pulled last October, or learned something at least.

He wakened at the faint sound of familiar heels clucking from a distance, the sound getting louder and more prominent as it neared. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see the two most beautiful beings on the planet, straight off a Cosmo or some shit. Derek Hale and Lydia Martin.

The way they walk, it's like they think they're on a runway or something. It's like everything should be really bright and glamorous, and a twinkle of lens flare in the corner of his sight.

Derek Hale's neck twitched as he strode by next to Lydia, like it always does any time Stiles takes the time to look at him, which, _shut the fuck up, Scott, I do not stare_. Okay, so maybe he takes a little peek every now and then, but it's hard not to when he's wearing t-shirts Stiles is sure are five times too small for him. He's pretty sure they cut off the blood flow of his arms because veins that big on a hand aren't something he thought was healthy. Or sexy.

Jesus, everything to do with Derek Hale was sexy. The jawline, the spiked hair, even his teeth do it for him. _Teeth_. It's not like he even sees much of his teeth, the guy's mouth barely moves.

He always looks so tense and constipated, he never thought a guy like Derek Hale would be his type, but hey, stranger things have happened. He can keep dreaming, though, because he's not sure Derek Hale even knows he exists. It's like some sort of cliche teenage romance story. One day they'll meet and by the end of high school they'll be madly in love and live happily ever after.

Yeah, fat fucking chance of that happening, eh?

And then there's Lydia Martin. Everything used to be _all about Lydia_. Not anymore, though, he's past that. These days it's all about Derek Hale, the grumpy, moody, unpleasant, angry lacrosse captain. Has been ever since the 'Gay Crises of 2012', as Scott likes to call it. He still thinks she's gorgeous, though, but these days it's more of an observational kind of thing than it is a personal opinion kind of thing.

Like, it should be illegal to _not _stare at them.

He averts his eyes and spins on his heel when he realizes he's essentially staring at a couple of kids in the hall with a watery mouth and wry smile curling his lips. He's such a creep, God, he should be locked up and shot or something.

He shook his head, shaking the thoughts away, grabbed his Econ book from his locker and headed straight to class. Econ. First thing. On a Monday morning. Brilliant. He lazily swept his feet towards his usual desk and flopped his ass down on the seat, feeling himself slowly drift off. He used the palm of his hand to hold his head up by his chin, eyes fluttering closed, not even noticing his head slowly slide off his hand.

Stiles' face falls unceremoniously against the desk. He groaned loudly, jerking his head up and ignoring the giggles that erupt from the witnesses sitting behind him. He sighed heavily as his eyes slowly peeled open, just in time to see Scott approaching, snorting and smiling like a goof as he gives Stiles' right shoulder a knowing, reassuring pat.

He sat at the vacated seat next to Stiles while Stiles resumed his position of cupping his chin with an open palm, fingers thrumming stiffly against his cheek. He closed his eyes and began to drift off again, snapping out of his daze when Scott clicks his fingers right in front of his face.

''Yeah, I'm awake'', he yawned, batting Scott's hand away with distaste. He groaned with pleasure when he straightened his posture and pushed his arms out in a more than satisfying stretch. The black rings and engraved lines etched under his eyes say he was feeling anything other than awake.

''Are you okay, Man?'' Scott sat back in his seat, leaned over and squeezed Stiles' shoulder soothingly. Stiles sighed with content and nodded sleepily.

''Yeah. I'm just tired s'all.''

''Are you sure? You don't look so good.'' Stiles snorted, too lazy to think of a witty comment to retort with. Scott winced, mouthing a sorry and Stiles nodded warmly.

''No, no, I just had a late one last night,'' he assured. ''It's hard getting back into routine, ya know?'' Scott nods, a relieved smile on his face, although he still looks at him with suspicion. ''Dude, you'd know if I was lying,'' his voice trailed off, eyes darting around them to make sure nobody was listening.

''Yeah, you have a tell,'' Scott said casually, pulling his Econ book from his bag. Stiles eyed him from his desk, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

''A tell as in having a heartbeat that your supernatural ass can hear when I lie? Oh, boy, I should probably work on that,'' he deadpans, tilting his head from side to side and wearing a dumbfounded look. Scott laughs.

''Yeah, I'm awesome like that,'' he smiles smugly.

Stiles rolls his eyes as his line of sight moves to the open classroom door, where Finstock storms into the room, slamming the door behind him, almost knocking it off it's hinges. Everybody jerks their head to the top of the room where Coach is scowling furiously, like he wants to wring their necks one by one, like he'd take pleasure in it.

''Morning, Sir. How-'' Greenberg greets from the front row. Finstock cuts him off with a slam of a hardback book against his desk and Stiles almost laughs at the way Greenberg flinches. Coach glances at Greenberg with a look in his eyes that could wilt a plant.

''So _s__omebody_ thought it would be hilarious to paint a custom job on my car this morning.'' Stiles doesn't miss how Finstock's eyes dart towards him briefly, and he raises his hands in his own defense. ''So to celebrate we're having a surprise pop quiz. Everybody take out a pen and some paper. Now!'' he shouts over thirty people groaning simultaneously.

Stiles groans as his face slams unceremoniously against his desk.

''Stilinski!'' Finstock yells from his desk and Stiles immediately lifts his head. ''Take out pen and get writing.'' Stiles sighs, rooting through his pencil case, and sighs again. Scott quirks an eyebrow at him as Finstock glares something fierce.

''You okay?'' Scott asked.

''Yeah. Can I borrow a pen?''

::: :::

As luck would have it, lacrosse practice was indeed _not _cancelled. Stiles hits the ground with a thud, groaning loudly at the ache that is currently constricting his back muscles, wind knocked out of him. He hadn't even seen the two of them coming. He knew it was inevitable before either one of the twins shoved him to the ground, but both of them at once?

He's pretty sure he somersaulted upon impact, flipping at least twice before landing heavily on the cold, icy ground, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He waited for the immediate pain in his back to simmer down before sitting up, groaning at the movement, before he felt a hand grip his arm and pull it around the other person's shoulder.

He blinked up to see Ethan acting like a crutch for him, Aiden standing further away from him smiling smugly, no doubt thinking of something witty to say. He groaned against Ethan's shoulder, hearing the sound of hushed laughter around him. There were hisses and ooh's that came from the crowd sitting on the bleachers at the first impact.

He just got tackled in front of Lydia Martin. That's great.

''Sorry, Buddy, I didn't see you there,'' he said in a demeaning tone, like he was some sort of child. Stiles scoffed as his breathing began regulating again. Aiden cupped his cheek, slapping it lightly. ''Sorry, man,'' he sneered.

He felt another body pull him from Ethan, arm slung around his waist as he pulled Stiles' over his shoulder. He assumed it was Scott, it was always Scott. ''You looked right at him, you assholes. I saw you!'' The twins glanced at each other, lips curling into an innocent smile, Ethan placing a hand over his chest.

''That's quite an accusation, Scott.''

''Why would I tackle my own teammate?'' Ethan added, and it sounded so genuine, that it just riled Scott up even more. The players were beginning to gather around them now, and the last thing Stiles wanted was more attention. This was humiliating enough without Scott making a scene out of it. ''It was an accident, it wasn't even that hard. It's not my fault the little runt can't take a little shove.''

''What did you say?'' Scott stepped forward, peeling himself away from Stiles, fists clenching behind his back.

''Scott, leave it,'' Stiles pleaded from behind him, finding his feet without having someone to cling onto, but Scott didn't process his words, just kept edging closer. The twins glanced at each other before lowering their folded arms and taking a defensive stance. Scott took a long stride forward, arm pulled back. ''Scott! Scott!'' Stiles called from behind him.

''Do it,'' one of them said, tilting their head forward and exposing his face for Scott to easily punch. ''Scott!'' Stiles reached forward to grab his arm, stilling at the next word spoken.

''Enough!'' a voice called from behind them. Every head jerked towards Derek Hale, the team captain, who was looking as furious as ever. Seriously, does the guy ever smile? He doesn't think he's ever seen Derek Hale smile, or even laugh for that matter. Every time Stiles looks at him he's twitching his neck and scowling. They guy's weird but hot so, it kinda balances out.

''Yeah, Scott. Enough,'' one of them whispered, the one Scott was just about to punch. Scott tensed his arm, fist clenching again, his face strained as he had an inward battle as to how to go about this. He really wanted to do it, but he knew he was going about this the wrong way, and he was only gonna get Stiles hurt even worse.

He sighed as he lowered his arm to his sides, turning as both of the twins laughed. Derek was glaring at all three of them now, his attention to Stiles seemingly forgotten.

''McCall, Stilinski, get outta here,'' he urged, and for a moment Stiles' heart skipped a beat. Derek Hale knew his name? The brief smile that split his cheeks fell after about a second once he realized Derek probably just read it off the back of his jersey, and, _wow, that sympathy_. Sighing, Stiles slowly limped towards Scott, tugging on his collar and dragging him away. Scott continued to stare them down as he stepped backwards.

''Yeah, you run off with your little boyfriend, you pussy,'' Stiles heard one of them say quietly, promptly ignoring him and holding Scott tighter when he tenses.

As Stiles stomped off the pitch, he glanced back as Derek watches him leave inquisitively. Before he made it off the pitch the team was practicing like normal, as if the entire incident was just forgotten about in Derek's head. Asshole.

He let go of Scott eventually, opting to focus on his own limping without having to deal with guiding Scott, too. Neither of them said a word as they walked to the locker rooms, but Stiles was fuming, trudging forward without looking back to make sure Scott was still walking behind him. He knew he was. When Stiles held the door open for Scott, he saw his face, an expression of guilt and something that looked a little like worry.

It wasn't until Scott was seated at a bench and Stiles was pacing in front of him that Stiles decided to speak. ''What the hell was that about, eh?'' he threw his hands up in the air and Scott flinched. '' What the hell were you thinking? No, you weren't thinking, you weren't thinking at all because if you were you'd know that an incident like that could cost you your chance at first line. You shouldn't have done that, you know Derek's gonna be on your case now, right?'' he points. ''Team fucking spirit and all that bullshit. Team spirit,'' he scoffs.

''Stiles,'' Scott says calmly from where he's still seated.

''What?'' Stiles stops, the word sounding more impatient than he'd intended. Scott just looked at him with a soft smile on his face.

''I don't care. Stiles, I don't care if Derek puts me on the bench next game. I don't even care if he puts me on the bench for the rest of the _season_.''

''Well, I do!'' he yelled, throwing his arms out in an exasperated manner. ''I care, Scott, because if you lose your chance in this then that's on me, and I'm not okay with that. I can't live with dragging you down to my level, I already hold you back as it is-''

''Stiles,'' Scott says again. ''Stop talking.'' Stiles stills in his movements again, sighing as his arms drop to his sides and stay there. ''Somebody had to do something, if you won't.'' Stiles opened his mouth but closed it immediately when Scott held up his hand at him. ''I know, Stiles. I know what they do to you, and I don't like it.'' Stiles sat across from him at the opposite bench.

''How?'' he swallowed, eyes fixed on the locker behind Scott's head.

''I've seen the marks, Stiles, okay? I know. And I know I shouldn't have sat back and let it happen but I thought you'd tell me. I wanted you to tell me, or somebody, you need to tell somebody, and have them-''

''And have them do what, Scott?'' he stood up again, sighing. ''What could they possible do to make them back off, huh? Suspend them for a couple of days? A couple rounds of detention? They won't get expelled. Scott, there is nothing anybody can do. Just drop it, yeah?''

''I can't,'' Scott says firmly, eyes locked on his. He can see the pent up anger and frustration building inside him, and he realizes just how helpless Scott probably feels right now. Despite the enhanced senses, the supernatural strength, Scott can't do anything. This is the first time Scott hasn't been able to help him in some way since he got bitten. ''I won't let them do this to you.''

''So, what? What are you gonna do?'' Stiles sat back down, clapped his hands together and looked him in the eye for the first time since they came in here. ''Rip their throats out? Stab them in the stomach with your claws? Bite them and hope for the best? Beat them to a pulp every time they put a foot wrong?''

''Maybe,'' he ground out.

''No, you won't Scott. You're a goddamn werewolf and if you lay a finger on them you know you're gonna do some serious damage, and that's not you. You're a good guy,'' he says, standing up. ''And I can handle them. You know me, I'm not one to stand for being pushed around.''

''I just don't want you getting hurt,'' Scott stands and approaches, placing a hand on his shoulder. The veins on his arm fade into black and Stiles sighs at the sudden relief in his back muscles. Eventually Scott pulls away and Stiles smiles.

''With a walking morphine dispenser of a friend like you, why does it matter?'' he grins, heading to the shower without another word. Scott watches him leave, but they both know this isn't over.

He does _not_ look at Derek's ass when he leaves the locker room later on.

::: :::

There's a reason why Stiles wants to sit at his own table during lunch everyday. That reason rhymes with 'Scott and Allison'. There's just the three of them, Stiles sitting at the end seat bored and sleepy and half way to collapsing into the slop this school labels 'food'. Scott and Allison are sitting across from one another, making heart eyes and flirting.

It wouldn't be so bad if they were together. Jesus, how hard is it to admit to somebody that you like them? It's not like the other doesn't know it, either, it's so fucking obvious a dead man would be able to feel the sexual tension.

With the smiling and the touching and the eyes and the compliments and- oh, God the flirting. The endless flirting in the halls and at lunch and when they're doing homework together or just hanging out in general. Flirting's not terrible, but Scott is just so bad at it it just makes Stiles cringe and want to crawl up into a ball and die.

He can sense a line coming already, he has a tell that Stiles can read as a _I want to say something but I don't know if I should because I'm going to mess it up and make an ass of myself_ kind of look. It doesn't really matter, though, because Allison's a nice girl who is really sweet and humors him anyway. She appears to think he's being cute.

Stiles evidently does _not_.

He just can't wait for this to be over. He thought they were finally there on New Years. They had a plan, that when the countdown ends, Scott would lean over and give her a friendly peck on the cheek. It wasn't going to be overly clear on what Scott wanted from it exactly, but that doesn't matter because he didn't. Fucking. Do. It. He never does it! And that's the worst part, he makes all these plans to finally kiss her after weeks of reassurance from Stiles and then- Nope. Nothing. Nada.

It's getting to the point where he's starting to feel sorry for the guy. He's always been so confident until Allison. Something always gets in the way of them, and sometimes Stiles wonders if she does it on purpose and that they _are_ fooling themselves, but then he sees the way she looks at him and it's as clear as day that she likes him. Great.

It's not like he doesn't want them to get together or anything, but if they do, where does that leave him? Stiles doesn't think of himself as a selfish person, but he needs a best friend as much as she needs a boyfriend. Not that she needs a boyfriend, or anything, he's sure she's a perfectly capable, dependent woman who doesn't need-

Who's benefit is this backpedaling for? Sometimes he thinks of himself as crazy, but that's mainly because he has conversations like this one in his head like 24/7, but that's probably the ADD or something.

Anyway, his point is, he needs his bro time, too. He needs Scott for when they stay up late during sleepovers and play video games until the sun comes up. Who will eat their weight in junk food with him when he has a bad day, or listen to his constant rambling with a fond smile on his face? If Scott and Allison do end up together, Scott will have no time for him. What happens then? He gets singled out, that's what.

He won't be invited to watch the next shitty romcom Allison wants to see at the movies. He won't be able to join them at the intimate dinner's they'll have on the weekend. He won't be able to spend any time with Scott without feeling guilty for pulling Scott away from Allison or being a third wheel. And what if they begin to resent him for it? Then he'll nobody at all.

''Hey, Allison,'' Scott says, catching her attention during one of the rare occasions she isn't staring at him. Stiles glances up, too, watching Scott's face go a little tense. Here it comes. Stiles is bracing himself. ''Did you do something with your hair? It looks...'' _nice, shiny, vibrant, like it matches your eyes, pretty, ANYTHING_, ''um, unusual.''

Allison's smile falters a little and accepts his compliment(?). She's more than likely thinking he's being cute all the while not acting on the fact that he went out of his way to compliment(?) her hair. Stiles wants to smack his face against the table. And theirs. Definitely theirs.

The day doesn't exactly get any better as school progresses. Chemistry is as riveting as it always is, Harris still has it out for him and he's still just barely passing the class in general. He sees Derek and that blonde girl Erica laughing together during one of the experiments. He swears the tightening in his chest is due to the cold he has and the fact that he instantly dislikes her is due to some plausible excuse that hasn't thought of yet.

They're probably together, and Stiles is one hundred percent fine with that, because he doesn't want to be with a guy like Derek. He just wants to be with a guy that _looks_ like Derek. Anyone with an ounce of sanity should want to be with a guy with Derek's face. Hell, when he thought he was straight he wanted to be with Derek. Does that make sense?

From a distance, Derek seems to be like Jackson. Good looking, plays lacrosse, could have any girl they want, popular. If he's really like Jackson then he uses those looks and popularity to look down on people. In his fantasies Derek's not like Jackson at all, and he hopes Derek's not actually like that. It wouldn't make much difference to him either way anyway.

Of course, for all he knows Derek's a nice guy, he's never given him a reason to think otherwise. He's never interacted much with him or any of his friends other than Jackson. Stiles knows for a fact _he's_ an asshole, and he sure as hell wouldn't put up a guy like Jackson in his _own_ group of friends. The only kind of people who put up with stuck-up assholes like Jackson are stuck-up assholes.

Then again, Danny's his best friend and Danny's not a thing like him. And it mostly seems like Derek has a problem with Stiles, and not the other way round. Every time Stiles gets close, or looks at him, Derek always gets so tense, and his frown furrows even deeper if that was even believable. He's never done anything wrong on Derek, considering they've never spoken a full sentence directly to each other. He doesn't know what Derek has against him.

He might find out one day.

His French teacher hands the Christmas tests back which results in a nice 'B-'. He's kinda surprised, to be honest, but surprise turns to something like shock when he glances over to see Derek holding a test with an 'A+' scrawled across the top. Surely, that's someone else's exam. Surely, he stole it. Jock's like Derek Hale aren't smart, are they?

Is Derek Hale smart? He's never really paid attention so much as to what he was doing, but how he looked doing it. Lacrosse captains never seem to be the brightest of people. Maybe he should stop being so stereotypical. Maybe that's why he doesn't get on well with people like Derek Hale.

::: :::

Stiles chooses to opt out of lacrosse training the next day. He has a reasonable excuse, his back problems are killing him. Nobody has to know his back has been fine since Scott pulled the pain out of him yesterday, so he doesn't miss the opportunity to save himself from further tackles and/or kicks from the twins.

He decides to use the now free period to catch up on some homework he chose not to do last night. First day back privileges and all. He's walking past the lacrosse field, sniffling into a tissue when he sees something so satisfying yet peculiar that he has to stop and watch it for little while and make sure he's seeing straight.

The twins are doing endless suicides, Derek standing from a distance watching them, a smug smile on his face as he watches their pain. He's standing with his arms folded, looking like he's enjoying this as much as Stiles is. He takes a seat on the steps a couple hundred feet away from the pitch and revels in the sight. It's an experience to remember, that's for sure.

It's not until his eyes meet Derek's that he realizes he's supposed to be down there, so he gets up and leaves before Derek can even think to call him down and make him do suicides next to the twins as punishment for skipping practice. He heads to the library and finds a free table to sit at, taking out his 'Heart of Darkness' and begins to read.

He makes it three pages in before he gets bored and begins glancing around the room for entertainment. He can hear girls laughing, which is weird because he thought he was the only one here. He strains his neck to see around one of the corners, seeing Allison and Lydia sitting at a table together laughing like good friends.

It's weird, Allison's never mentioned being friends with Lydia before. He shrugs when he comes to realize he doesn't care and goes back his reading. Maybe it's a newfangled thing.

By the end of the period he's made it to page five, and he doesn't spend most of the time remembering Derek's ass from yesterday. No, he does not.

::: :::

It's the next day when Stiles receives ample opportunity to test out his theories as to whether or not Derek Hale does have a problem with him. He doesn't know what the guy's deal is, or which one of them is the real asshole here. Maybe he indirectly offended him? He doesn't know, but either way he's not particularly excited to find out.

He doesn't know if he'll be able to last an entire lunch hour sitting at the same table as Jackson Whittemore.

He knows _he's_ an asshole at least.

He's sitting in his usual chair at the usual overly empty table between Scott and Allison staring into each other's eyes. Nobody's said a word yet and he's afraid that if he brings up a topic of conversation he'll be violating the bro code or something. You do not violate the bro code. He almost startles when a soft voice comes from behind him.

''Allison, do you wanna come sit with us?'' a girl asks, and when Stiles turns he sees none other than Lydia Martin standing behind him, asking Allison to eat lunch at the table of Stiles' nightmares. Allison pauses for a second, considering her options.

''Can Scott come?'' A pleased smile spreads across Scott's face as Stiles balks at the girl sitting next to him. She doesn't even look over at him, just hopefully watching Lydia. It's just like him to be forgotten about at any given point of important social gatherings. He rarely gets an invitation to parties, and he even rarely goes to them when he is.

''Sure,'' Lydia says casually. Stiles quickly turns to his ''meal'' and pretends like he hasn't been paying attention for the last fifteen seconds, focusing on his meal. He forcefully crunches some Doritos he brought to school this morning to avoid eating the slop in front of him as much as possible. He's pretty much lost all hope of being invited until Allison speaks again.

''And, Stiles?'' Stiles jerks his head up like this is the first he's heard of the conversation, and he ignores the knowing smile Scott is sending him in favor of turning to Lydia. Lydia looks at him for a second with eyes that appear to be roaming across him, inspecting him like she's some sort of Terminator or something. He realizes then that she's actually quite terrifying. She has a wry smile curling her lips, which confuses the fuck out of him.

''I don't see why not,'' she says, before turning on her heel and walking away. Stiles breathes a sigh of relief, before he realizes what he just got signed up for. He doesn't want to even go, it's just nice to not be singled out and be reassured that people actually like him enough to invite him to sit with them. He wants to cringe when he nears the table, tray in hand. This is what nightmares are made of.

He gets stuck between Scott and a tall guy with a sharp jawline and loose, brown curls. He seems kinda nice, considering he hasn't moved to a different seat yet. Stiles is actually surprised when he holds his arm out in greeting. Stiles stares at it for a long moment before he catches up, reaches out and shakes it enthusiastically.

''Isaac,'' he says quietly, looking confused but fond(?) at the same time. He's surprised the guy didn't pull his hand away, or be hiding something sharp between his fingers. ''Stiles,'' he replies, and he nods before sitting forward again. Stiles turns forward, glancing around and immediately wanted the ground to swallow him up when he sees Erica, the blonde girl smiling a shit-eating grin at him as she takes a rather large bite of her apple with ease.

''Hi, Stiles,'' she breathes, before a faint thud is heard from under the table and she cringes. Stiles lifts an eyebrow at her, feeling scared and slightly aroused if he's honest. She looks like she could eat him for breakfast. Boyd nods beside her before going about his business. She holds her hand out for him to shake, which he does. ''I'm Erica, this is Boyd,'' she gesture to Boyd, who seems too busy with reading to pay him anymore attention.

''Hi,'' he smiles awkwardly, a smile that falters as soon as his eyes move to Derek Hale sitting directly across from him, wearing an expression that looks like shock, but with a hint of a scowl. His shoulders are hunched and stiff, before he completely looks away and the surprise turns to something resembling anger. It's not the warmest of welcomes, but well, Derek's not the warmest of people so he'll take it.

He still doesn't know what this dude's problem is. What, the big jock can't be seen sitting with someone as unpopular as him at lunch? Maybe he _is_ just an asshole that uses his popularity to look down on him. He looks as though he wants to be anywhere but here, his face plastered in a scowl of extreme measures. He's beginning to make him feel uncomfortable.

It makes him feel unwanted, and if that reaction to Stiles sitting that close to him is anything to go by, Derek truly is an asshole. It could be worse, it could be to a level of Jackson Whittemore assholeness, who stops in his tracks as he approaches the table, mouth hanging open. It appears he's on the same page as Derek, which is wonderful.

He stops over to them looking like he's absolutely fuming. Isaac sighs beside him when Jackson sits next to Lydia, ignoring the smile she sends him to watch Stiles. ''What's this?'' he drops his tray on the table with a thud, and Stiles actually _does_ cringe this time. ''What's this?,'' he asks again when nobody answers, pointing at him and Scott, laughing slightly like he finds the idea of them sitting near him is hilarious.

At least Derek doesn't voice his hatred for him and humiliate him.

''Lydia invited them, jackass,'' Isaac sneers from beside him. Jackson scowls at him, before he catches up and his attention is turned to Lydia, a look of innocence on her face.

''You're responsible for this?'' he eyes her, and she simply shrugs in return before going back to eating her carrot stick. ''Do you hate me? I can't be seen eating with these two losers. Are you trying to destroy my reputation completely?''

''Jackson!'' Derek interrupts him, making at least half the people sitting at the table flinch. ''The only reputation you have is that of an arrogant asshole. Shut the fuck up and eat your food,'' he says, nodding his head and angrily biting from a bagel. Jackson makes a bitch face to end all bitch faces, but Derek shut him up at least.

He's still not sure what Derek's deal is, but judging by his clear dislike of Jackson, maybe Derek isn't actually the asshole he seems to be.

''So, Stiles,'' Erica pipes up from the other side of the table. ''How'd you spend New Years?''

Jackson ignores everybody except Lydia, probably having realized that she's the only one that will actually tolerate him today. Boyd is as quiet and stoic as Derek, but Erica is loud and talkative like himself. She's dating Boyd so they probably balance out in a sense. Danny joins them a little while into lunch, but everybody's friends with Danny so there was no need for an introduction there.

Out of all of them, Isaac is probably his favorite. Lydia's actually kinda sweet, which probably shouldn't be as big of a surprise at it is to him. He wonders how she even wound up in a relationship with Jackson, they're polar opposites but it's not in a good way. Not like Erica and Boyd, no, these two seem kinda toxic together, and he doesn't get it at all.

Derek glares into his food for the entire lunch hour, barely lifts his eyes up except for the time he looks at Lydia like he wants to murder her. She smiles brightly at him before going back to her food, seemingly unfazed. The guy doesn't say one word the entire time after his outburst at Jackson, unless you count a grunt as a word of the English language.

::: :::

It's Construction class before he interacts with Derek again, and it's when he realizes the universe really and truly hates him. He lightly walks towards Derek's table, a slight crouch to his posture like he's approaching a hungry lion or something. Derek fucking looks like one. He tries his best appeasing smile, but it probably makes him look more terrified and uncomfortable than calm.

Derek's expression doesn't change, not that he thought it would. Derek walked in wearing a frown, sat down wearing a frown, frowned the entire way through Mister Shannon's spiel about a partner project the class is taking part in, had a frown when he got paired with Stiles and is still expressing the same frown as Stiles warily sits down next to him, face collective and showing no fear.

It's not like he's afraid of Derek Hale or anything, but lunchtime wasn't exactly the warmest of introductions. He half expected a 'Mean Girls' moment to happen, where one of them would make a wrong move and suddenly it's feeding time at the zoo, jumping on each other and clawing each other's faces off. He's more prepared, than scared. Yeah, he'll go with that.

You can't blame a guy, either. He has reason to believe that even Derek Hale's eyebrows could beat him in a fight. Scared, pfft.

''Hi,'' he tries smiling genuinely, feeling as uncomfortable as Derek is looking. Derek turns his head to him and stares, so Stiles gives up and slumps into the seat, sighing at the awkward silence that threads the air between them. It only seems to make Derek angrier by his presence, so he twists in his chair, cursing the twenty eight others in the class who got paired with someone _other_ than Derek Hale.

Mister Shannon smirks as he approaches them, clearly feeling the tensing between them that you could literally cut with a knife. He slaps their brief on the table and mutters, ''Have fun,'' before he's gone. Derek's sharp glare at him could give a real knife a run for it's money. He gingerly reaches out and takes the sheet as Derek tears his scowl away from their teacher so Stiles is left to face it.

Derek doesn't say anything, lips set in a firm line. Seriously, what the fuck is this dude's problem?

''It says here we have to design and build a piece of furniture. It should have all functional requirements the piece of furniture in question should have. All wood, tools and machinery will be provided. Yada, yada, yada. A sixty page portfolio should be presented alongside the finished piece. This project will account for fifty percent of your grade at the end of the year,'' he reads. ''It will take place for the next ten weeks.''

He glances up at Derek just in time to witness the wince that scrunches up his face. He didn't even make it subtle, hell, he shouldn't be wincing at all. It's not like Derek knows him, or has ever noticed him ever. He didn't think the impression he made at lunch was that bad, and judging by the friendly attitude of everyone else (bar Jackson), he didn't think they thought so either.

''So,'' he says slowly, tapping the table with his fingers. ''What do you wanna build?'' Derek considers him for a moment.

''A coffee table,'' is all he says (Oh, my God, it can speak?) before standing up and collecting a few sheets of paper from the shelf behind Mister Shannon's desk. No 'I don't know, Stiles, what do _you_ wanna build?'. No 'I think we should build a coffee table but I want to hear your opinion on the matter'. All he got was a grunt and 'coffee table'. No 'I would like to build a coffee table and act like a real human being and make out with you'.

Was the last one too far? It was a little over the line. A boy can dream, can't he?

While Derek's back is turned he looks over at Scott, who glances back at him before his eyes dart to Derek at the top of the class. Isaac joins in on looking at the two of them, before whispering something in Scott's ear that sounds like a piece of real juicy gossip, judging by Scott's reaction. Isaac covers Scott's gaping mouth with his hand, laughing to himself.

Eventually they get over their little 'moment' and Scott calms a little. While Derek's back is still turned, he mouths for help. In return, they both just smile fondly as Derek approaches him again, squinting at the two children across the room in frustration and sitting down. Scott, the bastard, got partnered with Isaac for fuck sake, and now they're both just staring at him smiling. He got paired with the grumpiest, angriest, scariest person on the planet, there is nothing to smile about.

He can already tell Derek Hale is going to be an absolute _joy_ to be around for the next ten weeks.

**Come hang out on tumblr! ( .com) I'll hopefully have the time to update in the next few weeks but I'll see how it goes... Leave a review or subscribe for more :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: ****So, there's a fairly large amount of bullying and references to bullying in this chapter. That's not what this fic is about, it's merely just a small side story that I kinda got carried away writing this time. There's also not a lot of Sterek moments this chapter, but the next chapter is all pure Sterek, I promise you.**

**This update came faster than I thought it would, and there's a huge build up to exams I have in two weeks, so I'll probably spend most of my time studying until they end on June 17th so no promises of an update until then.**

**I proof read it myself, so I'm sorry if there's any spelling mistakes or anything of the sort, although there shouldn't be. Also thanks for the feedback for the last chapter!**

**See the end notes for any details of the bullying if you'd feel more comfortable that way :)**

It's later that evening when Stiles arrives at the police station. He's bringing his father his dinner, like he does every time he has to work the later shifts. His dad would be grateful, only Stiles' tyranny of healthy and cholesterol lowering foods has yet to end. He doesn't care what his father thinks, he's eating it whether he likes it or not. One heart attack was more than enough, thank you very much.

He knows his father appreciates the concern, and he probably accepts the food more for Stiles' benefit than his own, but that doesn't mean he finds cherry tomatoes and lettuce a satisfying meal. That's why he's getting a treat today, Stiles bought veggie burgers. There's more salad than actual burger, and the bread is wholemeal, but the guy will eat it and he will damn well like it, too.

He doesn't think his father understands why he does this. Yes, the heart attack was one of the main reasons, but making his father live a healthy lifestyle is the only way he can help. Being the sheriff doesn't have the highest rate of retirees, mainly because they've all the died on the job. Hell, that's how his father _got_ the job.

It eats his insides, that one of these days his father will say goodbye when he leaves for work, and it could be the last time he ever sees him. It's not a thought he likes to think about, but he has to face the reality of having a sheriff for a father. Beacon Hills doesn't have a very high crime rate per se, but with the amount of supernatural bullshit that goes on behind closed doors a man's safety isn't exactly guaranteed.

Every time he says goodbye he forces a reassuring smile, like he knows he'll see his father come back through the front door later, like he knows his father will be there to wake him up for school everyday, like he knows there won't be an accident waiting to happen that will leave Stiles alone without a parent to care for him anymore.

So he does his best to make sure his father is safe. A veggie burger is no gun or bullet proof vest, but Stiles will go out of his way to make sure he'll never feel the way he felt during the last heart attack again. He remembers coming home from school, and Melissa was there with one of the deputies from the station. As soon as he saw them he knew something was wrong. They had the same expression on their faces as they did the day his mother died.

In those seconds he thought that was it, his was parentless, an orphan. He couldn't breathe, he was light-headed and the room was spinning. He was on the floor before Melissa even knew he was home. He hadn't such a bad panic attack since his mother died, when he was hospitalized himself for almost cracking his skull open.

He'll never forget the feeling, the numbness he felt, the bile that was oh so sour creeping up his throat. It was the feeling of being so horribly, horribly alone in the world. He could never comprehend how children actually lived after the death of their parents, how anything could make it better. Nothing really could. So he'll fight his father over this. He'll let him help him in some shape or form.

He'll eat this fucking veggie burger and he will savor every second it adds onto his life.

He feels comfortable as he walks into the station, like he's walking into his own house. It feels like a home, he spent most of his youth here after his mother died. It's safe, and the people are warm and open with him. Most of them have been here through it all. His mom passing away and the heart attack, they've always been so comforting and reassuring.

They've helped him through the tough times, and his dad even more so, especially when Stiles couldn't because he didn't know how to yet. They've looked after him, even when his father was only a deputy. In a way they feel like family, everyone here does. He hopes one day he can be just like them. He wants to help the world, to protect people from the dangers that lurk out there. He's the one that always figures things out, the one to help the others when they need it most.

Between time spent here and time spent listening in on his father's calls, he knows the ins and outs of the job. The work, the risks, everything. He's pretty sure he's more experienced with the force than half the cops in here. Speaking of cops, he smiles when he sees Rhonda sitting at the front desk, eyes glued to the computer as she types furiously.

She's dark-skinned and a little plump, wavy hair tied back in a ponytail. This woman has been like a third mom to him behind his actual mom and Melissa. She's looked after him in here. When he was a kid and still getting over his mom's death, she'd always come and check up on him every now and then. She made him hot chocolate, but it was always bittersweet. Nothing will ever compare to how his mom made it.

She made him his first cup of coffee, hugged him when he needed, even when he didn't ask she knew the need was there. She's worked here his whole life and more, and he couldn't imagine this place without her. She has the woman's touch every home needs, and that's what this place is, his home. It's his calling to work behind one of these desks one day. One day, he will.

She's still typing furiously when he reaches the counter, her eyes darting to the lunchbox holding his father's dinner when he places it on the counter. She doesn't even have to look at him to know it's him, face breaking into a smile as she continues to type.

''Hey, sweetie,'' she greets, eyes not breaking contact with the screen. She's always called him that, never anything other than that. It's soothing in a way. ''Bringing your dad dinner, huh?''

''Yeah,'' he sighs, leaning against his elbows on the counter. ''Someone's gotta feed him, right?'' She glances over at him and winks with a smile, before finishing whatever she was typing and turning to him. ''Slow crime day?'' he asks, looking around the room at the practically empty station around them apart from a couple of interns with their backs to them.

''Slow day if there ever was one. Trying to find excitement in this town is like trying to get blood out of a stone.'' As she speaks he realizes just how untrue that was. It's amazing how so many people there are in the world that are blind to something that's right in front of them. Nobody would ever suspect that Scott could transform into such a cunning, vicious animal. The guys a sweetheart for God's sake, there's nothing remotely animalistic about him.

What they don't know won't hurt them. And he means that in the most literal sense, too. There were no bruised cheeks, no split lips and all of his ribs were always kept in tact before he found out about the supernatural shenanigans that went down in Beacon Hill's neck of the woods.

''Not to complain,'' they both said in unison, thankful that his father is sitting at a desk instead of chasing crooks around with big guns. He feels safer when his dad is safe.

''I hope school there's more excitement in school than there is in this place. You happy to be back?'' she turns to the printer and fidgets with some buttons.

''Oh, yeah. Ecstatic,'' he drawls in a dry tone. Seriously, like his tone was dryer than the Nevada desert. There is less than two hundred and fifty milliliters of precipitation on his tone. The metaphorical sun's rays are shining straight over his tone. Where was he? Right, school. ''Something to do, I guess.'' She hums, adding pages into a document and shoving it into a filing cabinet.

''Make it to first line yet?'' she turns back to him. He averts his gaze, getting to first line has always been an issue for him. He's always been so desperate to play, to prove his worth that he might actually be good at something for once. He's still yet to get there, though, what with Coach and your majesty Derek Hale as captain and resident jackass Jackson Whittemore as co-captain.

He's not popular enough to be anything other than a bench warmer. It's not as if he's warming it for anybody else, he's never been actually picked to sub for anybody. There are plenty of other players as average as him playing, only they've climbed to a higher rank on the social ladder. It's the story of his life really, so much potential, just no chance given to him to show anything for it.

''Nah, still keeping fit with practice, though,'' he forcefully perks himself up. She smiles at him from where she's filling out forms from her seat. ''Speaking of keeping fit,'' he leans closer, his tone hushed. ''Anything I need to know?'' he wiggles his eyebrows at her. She glances around her, before shiftily tearing the corner off a piece of paper and scrawling something across it.

She slides it across the counter casually and goes back to her work. He folds the piece of paper open and glances at it before slipping it into his back pocket. ''How many?'' he asks, his voice still hush, making sure the interns aren't within ear shot.

''There were at least four this morning. Who knows how many have survived.'' Stiles nods his head, bottom lip jut out as he glances towards the sheriff's office.

''To think I was going to treat him to fat-free bacon in the morning,'' he sighs. ''I can't believe he's sneaking cupcakes into work. Where does he hide them?''

''Bottom drawer on the left,'' she silently mouths to him, going back to her business as usual like this whole interaction never happened. He made a 'huh' face, making a note to amp up the healthy in his father's diet over the next few days to make up for all the calories he's consumed. He snapped out of his thoughts at the loud thud of a folder being dropped by one of the interns.

They both glance over the loud noise, the intern with his back to them. He's got spiked dark hair, slim build, tall- and now he's bending over and he hasn't seen a nicer ass since Parrish transferred last year. He's just about getting an eyeful when the intern turns around and shows his face and- oh shit, that's Derek Hale! He jerks his head away, eyes fixated on the floor, trying to withhold a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

''You know Derek?'' He didn't know he said that last part out loud. He is so fucked. He slowly raises his head, a slight wince twisting his features as he meets her wide-eyed yet fond stare. She smiles at him knowingly, and the longer he looks the smoother his face becomes.

''He's a sweet boy,'' she comments.

''Yeah, he's something all right,'' he mutters, trying to rid all memories of Construction class earlier from his mind. Jesus, the guy's a fucking plank of wood himself. Does he even have facial muscles? Holy shit, that guy's got some dark cloud hanging over him. He looks a little more relaxed now, less tense and less of a scowl darkening his face. It only spurs his theory that Derek only scowls when he knows Stiles is around further.

She gives him a once over from the distance. ''Don't blame you,'' he sighs wistfully. Stiles gapes at her from across the counter, mouth hanging open in a comical fashion as she stares back inquisitively.

''Um-'' he swallows. ''Excuse me?''

''I don't blame you,'' she repeats herself slowly. This time it sounded more like a question, as if Stiles was the one who wasn't following. He stays silent, staring at her waiting for her to continue. ''For liking him,'' she elaborates casually.

''You- You think I like Derek?'' he tries his best dismissive laugh, but it comes off more choked than disbelieving. He sighs, knowing he's defeated before she even speaks. She sends him a look that makes him question his own skills in the art of subtlety. Is it really that obvious that he's attracted to Derek? Is it really that hard to believe that anyone on the planet is attracted to Derek?

''Oh, sweetie,'' she coos, petting his cheek softly before getting back to work. He doesn't really know what that was about. He hopes to God that wasn't pity, his self-esteem is low enough without the people who matter most to him patronizing him about people who are _way_ out of his league. ''With an ass like that it's like staring into the sun-''

''Okay,'' he backs away. ''Good to see you, Rhonda,'' he smiles as he grabs his lunchbox and makes a dash towards his father's office. She laughs and nods her head.

''Bye, sweetie.''

He heads straight for his father's office, not bothering to check if Derek even saw him or not. Not that it matters anyway, he doesn't think Derek's vocabulary contains any form of friendly greeting. He'd get a tense scowl, maybe his neck will twitch like it does sometimes. He wouldn't get a hello, that's for sure. He walks straight into the office to find his father finishing up a phone call.

''Who was that?'' he asks, propping himself down in the chair opposite his dad. He father puts the phone down and pauses before he speaks.

''Well, hello to you, too, son,'' he says dryly. Stiles smiles, feeling warm at the ol' Stilinski wit they share. He slouches down further into the seat, making himself comfortable as he slides his father's dinner towards him across the table. His father takes one brief look at it before he sighs, rubbing his forehead tiredly with the back of his hand.

''Stiles, what the hell is this crap?'' he pries the lid off, scrunching his nose up in distaste.

''It's called a veggie burger, Dad. Stop playing with it!'' he scolds, forcing John to stop poking it around the lunchbox and causing the salad to fall out from under the wholegrain bun. ''I thought I'd treat you tonight. I know hard you've been working on your diet.'' John immediately tenses at Stiles' tone, avoiding all eye contact with him. The look of guilt on his face is so rewarding.

''Yeah, I have actually,'' he perks up, taking the burger in his hands and taking a large bite of it. He hums approvingly as he takes another bite, making a show of how grateful he is. ''Thank you, son,'' he says with enthusiasm. ''It such a nice gesture from you to reward my good behavior with such a delicious treat.'' He's looking at him nervously now, knowing Stiles isn't buying a word of it.

''Yeah, all right, the jig is up, old man. Hand them over,'' he leans forward, eyeing his father. If he looks closely he can almost see a bead of sweat running down his temple. His father swallows.

''Hand what over?'' he blinks innocently, taking another bite and barely containing his wince as it touches his tongue. At least he's being punished for it in some shape or form.

''The cupcakes,'' he says sternly, staring right into his father's eyes. It takes about two and a half seconds for his father's facade to waver. This guy is a cop? This guy has gone through interrogations? How did he even rise to the ranks of sheriff? He slams his burger into the lunchbox in outrage, crossing his arms furiously.

''How did you know?!'' he cries, slumping back into his chair. ''Just let me be happy, just this once,'' he covers his face in his hands. Stiles smiles widely, standing up.

''I have my sources,'' he smiles smugly, extending his arm out and flicking his long fingers against his palm twice in a 'gimme' fashion. ''Hand them over!'' he demands.

''Who's the parent here?'' he stares, baffled, but pulls out a key for the bottom drawer anyway, in the exact spot Rhonda said they were. He pulls out the box of cupcakes, two still left, each a different color with variations of treats sprinkled on top. He eyes the one with the chocolate egg on top with need and want. He pulls them from his father's hands, licking his lips as his mouth waters.

''Well, my night is made,'' he beams at the baked goods crying to be mauled, heading for the door. ''Stiles!,'' he hears his father call him as he's passing the threshold.

''Tell Rhonda I want to see her in my office,'' he says in frustration, turning his nose up in disgust at the burger like it personally offended him.

''To think I was going to give you fat-free bacon for breakfast in the morning,'' he tuts. His father slams his head against his desk, and everything bounces two inches to the left.

''You're killing me!'' he cries.

''I'm doing the exact opposite actually,'' he smiles again. His father sighs, defeated.

''Goodnight, Stiles.''

''Love you,'' he laughs, closing the door to the sound of his father humming. He throws his arms in the air in victory, causing everyone's head to turn in his direction as he fist bumps the air with a wide smile. ''I fought the law and I won!'' he preens, heading back over to Rhonda. He catches Derek watching him in the corner of his eye, choosing not to look over.

''That's for ratting him out,'' he whispers, passing one of the cupcakes across the desk. She takes it gingerly and sets it down next to her.

''As long as you keep splitting the winnings I'm more than happy to help,'' she smiles. He salutes her in farewell, feeling a heavy gaze burning into the back of his head. He turns around to catch Derek's neck twitch, before shrugging and leaving for the night.

::: :::

Stiles exhales a sharp breath as his head collides with the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom floor. Groaning quietly, he rolls himself over onto his back, eyes peeling open to see two guys standing over him, heads tilted in a demeaning fashion, like they're staring down at a toddler who tripped over his own laces. He's always hated the twins, and they've always hated him right back.

He honestly can't even remember why they do it, why they've seemingly made it their life goal to ruin Stiles' own. It's happened pretty much since middle school when they were first put in the same class. They slammed him into lockers, took his lunch money, tripped him in the halls. Everything you could imagine a typical bully doing, they've done. Has he mentioned the swirly?

He didn't do anything wrong. He supposes they just picked one at random, or the one that was most vulnerable and the least likely to fight back. He was still coping with the loss of his mother when it started. He didn't even have much fight in him back them. But as time went by, the twins got tougher as Stiles got weaker, all hope of an easy school life vanishing in front of him.

He was taller than them, but all bone and no muscle compared to them. They were built, even more so now with lacrosse and whatever after school activities they part take in.

He's grown used to it by now. He knows he'll get tacked during practice, and have insults spat at him at any time in the day. He knows he shouldn't go into the bathroom alone, that they're always watching from somewhere, somehow. Today was different, though, he really needed to go. And when you gotta go you gotta go, regardless of the consequences.

He hissed as one of them lay their foot right into his stomach in a forceful kick, winding him completely and leaving him gasping on the floor and writhing like a fish out of water. He's not usually one to not stand up for himself in times of confrontation, but when there's two muscled maniacs rallying up against one hundred and forty pounds of sarcasm, well, it's not hard to imagine the outcome.

One of them crouches down next to him, the one that didn't kick him just a few moments ago, and pulls him closer by the hair on the back of his head, clenching his fist in it tightly. He smirks ferociously at him, a smile Stiles so desperately wants the strength to wipe off his face with a swing of his fists. Ethan- he thinks- looks him right in the eyes, mouth opening to talk.

''Now, who says school is boring when we have such an entertaining way to pass our free time?'' he tugs on Stiles' hair tighter, prying a wince out from his gaping mouth. The burn ripping through the back of his head runs right through him, involuntarily clenching his fist. Aiden just sits back and watches his twin take control as he catches his breath.

''Fuck you,'' Stiles spits at him. Ethan's eye go wide and wild, looking like he found amusement in what Stiles had just done. In one movement he had his fist swinging for Ethan's cheek, but he wasn't fast enough. Aiden had his wrist tight in his grasp, just inches from Ethan's unguarded face. He looks as equally amused as Aiden does, like this is some sick game to them.

''Well, well, well. Lookie here, Ethan, we've caught a wiley one today, haven't we?'' Ethan glances over at him, fire in his eyes as his smile widens. Aiden looks back down on him, all teeth and predatory smirks. ''And you know what happens to the wiley ones,'' he says, his grip tightening on Stiles' wrist, causing Stiles to gasp again in pain.

''They get punished,'' Ethan adds as the pain in his wrist becomes so intense that it causes him to cry in pain. Ethan holds his hands over his mouth, shushing for him to be quiet in a soft tone. ''Shh, use your indoor voice. You don't want us to get caught, do you?'' Stiles blinks back tears as he nods his head in disagreement.

''Good,'' Aiden soothes his wrist, rubbing his thumb in circles. ''Because you know what will happen if you get us caught. You remember, don't you? What we sad about making you suffer?'' Stiles nodded, and Aiden's smile grew some more. He quivered as Ethan moved his hand up to caress his temple, softly trailing his fingers on the black eye that will soon shine on his face, hands sliding down his sweaty hair.

''It's okay,'' Aiden says. ''We're done for today. Now, what do you say when people ask you about your eye?'' he asks.

''L-lacrosse,'' he swallows as Aiden pats his cheek before standing.

''Good. Now, be a good boy and wait a few minutes before leaving after us. Got it?'' Stiles nods from where he's still sprawled out on the floor and watches them leave. When he hears the door creak shut he lets his head fall the to the ground and let's it all out.

::: :::

He doesn't stay long after his little encounter with Thing 1 and Thing 2 after what he just went through. He pulled himself up off the grimey floor only to fall back down again with the sharp ache of pain he felt in his left leg. The one they had kicked to knock him to the floor in the first place. One had held his arms while the other had punched him in the face, effectively leaving a purple shadow around one of his eyes.

He left the bathroom in time with the bell, so everybody had just gone to class when he finally emerged, limping and clinging onto anything he could find for support. It could have been worse, they could have killed him instead. He's thankful that the empty halls had saved him at least a spectacle of his dignity.

He walks straight to his car, hopefully avoiding the attention of any teacher walking by. The last thing he needs is a detention for skipping school without permission. He drives home, a twinge of pain in his leg every time he presses his foot against the pedal. He hisses, adding pressure to the pedal and slowly, but surely, he makes it home within a few minutes.

He sighs when he sees the cruiser parked in the driveway, leaning his head against the steering wheel the the jeep comes to a stop beside it. He doesn't even know where to begin explaining how this happened. He could tell, but that wouldn't accomplish much. They won't be expelled or punished to a high degree. All it would lead to was more beatings.

He sat in the jeep for a few minutes, steadying his heart beat and evening out his breathing. When he finally heads inside, he finds his father in the kitchen sitting at the dinner table flicking through the newspaper with a cup of coffee in his hands. It's not until Stiles makes himself known that his father realizes he's home, startling a little but not committed to take his full attention away from the newspaper.

''Hey, Kiddo,'' he glances over quickly before going back to the paper. His eyebrows knit together and- wait for it- he lifts his arm to check his watch, eyes widening a little as he turns his head to face Stiles completely. ''What are you do-''

He's on his feet in seconds, taking three large strides across the room and suddenly Stiles' face is gathered in his hands, being turned and tilted as his father inspects every inch of bruise, battered and beaten skin, paying close attention to his eye which he assumes has begun to swell and color. Great, a fucking shiner is exactly what he needs on top of this.

''Hey, Dad,'' he tries, wincing at the look of pure outrage and shock shaping his father's face. He looks away, can't handle that look, swallowing as his father continues to look for more more marks on his neck and arms, twisting them to view the underside of them, peppered in small bruises. He winces when his father thumbs over them.

''Who did this to you?'' he asks, a stern tone to his voice. It causes Stiles to look back over at his father, his eyes sharp but pleading, like he can't bare to see Stiles when he's in a state like this. He doesn't want his father to look at him when he looks like this, broken both physically and mentally.

''Lacrosse accident,'' he mutters, eyes flicking away from his father to avoid the scrutiny that's sure to follow his words. His father grips his arms tighter, careful to keep his pressing fingers away from the bruises scattered across the.

''What do you mean 'lacrosse accident'?'' he demands, shaking Stiles' shoulders a little for emphasis. Stiles can't help but keep his gaze on the floor, he doesn't want to see his father's expression, the pleading eyes, the angry frown and furrowed brows. Not when he won't be able to put him out of his misery with the truth.

''Practice,'' he mumbles without a second thought. ''I got tackled, forgot to wear head gear, fell on my face. No big deal.'' He doesn't remember when lying to his father came to be so easy for him, but he guesses it was probably around the time Scott got bit in the woods that night. It still leaves him unsettled, even after all these years of sneaking around behind his back, lying to his face. He just wants to be honest with him more than anything else.

''No big deal?,'' he question, giving him a once over that Stiles lifts his eyes just in time to see. ''Stiles, look at your face! You're gonna have a black eye. There's no way this happened during lacrosse.''

''Ah, you know me. Bruise like a peach,'' he winces, as his father's hand ghosts over his swollen eye, palm flat against his beaten cheek.

''Do I need to have a little chat with your coach?''

''What? No!,'' he flails his hands to still his father despite him not moving anywhere. ''I mean, it was my own fault anyway, I wasn't wearing any head gear.''

''Why weren't you wearing head gear?''

''Because,'' he sighs, voice trailing off into a whisper. ''Lydia was there. I wanted to impress her by looking tough,'' he says now with more conviction. Lydia, of course! That should get the job done. His father sighs, nodding his head disapprovingly. If he wasn't in such a state, he's sure there would have been a fond smile to go with it.

''If that's her idea of impressive then I think the girl needs her head examined. No more of _this_,'' he waggles his finger in Stiles' vicinity, ''for the sake of some girl, you hear me?'' Stiles snorts as his father waits for a response.

''You got it, Dad,'' he salutes, a wry smirk curling his lips.

His father looks more relaxed now, as if there's been a crisis averted somehow. His eyebrows and facial expression go soft, his lips curling to match the false smile on Stiles' face. He pulls him into a tight hug, his father still careful not to press to much pressure into the bruises on his body. He sinks into it, sighing into his father's shoulder.

He feels warm and comfortable and safe, and Stiles doesn't know what he'd do without this man. He's so loving and caring and honest, and everything a great dad should be. He just wishes he could be the son his father deserves, a son that is't caught up in a supernatural mess, that slips out of his window in the middle of the night. He just wants to return the favor.

He doesn't deserve Stiles. It's why he can't tell his father the truth about the twins, he's already such a burden to his father, such a disappointment, he can't put his father through anymore heartache, he's already caused so much for him over the past seventeen years. Sometimes he can't believe how lucky he is to have his father actually _be_ his father.

He just wishes he could be a son.

::: :::

Stiles is surprised when he gets another invite over to sit at the table of his nightmares again. He's carrying his tray of ''food'' to his usual table, not even thinking twice about the last time he sat there a couple of days ago, when he hears a whistle from behind him. He turns his head to see Danny waving a hand at him in a bid for him to approach them and, yeah, okay-

_Was Danny Mahealani really coercing him over to sit with him?_

He's surprised to see Scott and Allison already seated with Isaac, Erica and Lydia. He missed lunch yesterday thanks to his run-in with the Dangerous Duo yesterday morning, so he guesses Scott and Allison sat with them again a second time. He supposes they must be cool enough after all, no matter what Jackson seems to think.

He still has no idea about Derek, though. Does he like Stiles? Does he hate him? Is he like that with every new person he meets? He's seen Derek with Lydia and Isaac and the others before, looking relaxed and even _speaking_ to them, so knows tense and quiet isn't really Derek, that Derek is just for Stiles. Stiles wants to punch that Derek.

He takes the empty seat in between Allison and and Erica, Erica taking the end seat and Danny sitting across from her. Isaac is across from Allison, Scott on her right side. Everybody seems to be already in conversation, and he can't help but feel a little uncomfortable in the silence when everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves around him.

And speaking of discomfort, here's Derek Hale walking straight towards them. His hands are white from gripping the tray so hard when he sits down across from him. He probably would have sat somewhere else, but Lydia seemed to have claimed the two seats on the other side of Isaac for herself and Jackson, and the seat at the end of the table next to Erica is probably for Boyd.

The scowl on Derek's face makes it obvious that he's as happy to see him as ever. He grunts a greeting to Isaac and Erica when they acknowledge him, eyes burning through the tray as he holds his gaze away from Stiles. His attention to Derek is thwarted when Allison elbows him in the side, knocking against one of his bruises as she talks animatedly to Isaac and Scott.

''Oh, hey, Stiles!'' she turns. ''Sor- Oh, my God, are you okay?'' her smile falters, grabbing his face between her hands and inspecting the black eye that colored over night. Everyone's attention seems to be turned on him now, mouths slightly agape as they finally notice the marks on his face. Scott is half-standing over Allison's shoulder in a state of shock.

''What happened?'' Allison finally releases him, but holds her gaze, and so does everyone else apparently when his eyes darts around to everyone watching him at the table. Of all the times for Derek Hale to finally look at him.

He stutters under the intense stares at him, feels a hand rub up and down his left arm soothingly- Erica- as if it's something so normal, like they've known each other years instead of having spoken once the other day. He feels guilt in every inch of his body and mind at the crushing thought that he finds it easier to lie to his dad than it is to lie to Allison, Scott and people he barely even knows.

He opens his mouth but no words come out, mouth just hanging open as he racks his brain for a reasonable excuse- anything- _anything_. He suddenly understands now why Scott finds it so hard to find something to say to her. ''I-'' he tries, voice quiet, on the brink of just letting it all spill out regardless of the consequences.

''He fell down the stairs last night,'' Scott cuts in, reaching over rubbing his shoulder, his black veins hidden under the confines in his shirt as he leeches some of the pain away. Derek eyes him suspiciously as he stamps down on the urge to sigh in relief, swallowing instead as he turns back to his food. Allison looks at him warily, seemingly having not bought a word of it.

''Why didn't you just say?'' she asks quietly, clasping her hand around his own. He sighs shakily, waving his free hand around as he speaks.

''Because it's just typical me, you know?'' he says, wishing the others weren't around to see and hear this. They seems to be in mid-conversation now, thankfully giving him some privacy but probably listening in anyway. He feels warm at the thought of them actually caring about him. ''Typical Stiles, too hyper for his own good. God, I can't even walk down the stairs without tripping over my own feet,'' he rubs his hand through his hair in a frustrated fashion.

Her faces soothes out, and he ignores the joy and relief he feels when he realizes she bought it. Again with the lying, he doesn't know how much more he can take before everything honest just come spewing out of his mouth in one big outburst. Allison takes her hand away, brushing his arm with it gently before going back to her food.

He could see her watching him from the corner of his eye, but he chose to not acknowledge it and let her worry about him no matter how unnecessary it was. He likes that there's somebody other than Scott and his father that worries about him. When he looks over at Derek, he's watching him back. It feels like the few seconds in which their eyes lock lasts for eternity.

When Stiles finally tears his eyes away, it's to quickly glances at the twins who are walking past their table. He goes tense and rigid all over, eyes locking on the table until they're gone out of view.

When he looks back up, Derek's gaze is stiff on the back of their heads.

::: :::

As it turns out, his humiliation seems to have been the peak of excitement throughout the day. Lunch goes rather uneventful, just making small talk with Erica and Danny. Boyd is as quiet as ever, but Stiles guesses that's just who he is. He never sees Boyd ever overly-animated unless he's alone with Erica. Derek, however.

Derek is driving him nuts. He seemed to have shown a slight bit of sympathy at the beginning of lunch, but a black eye and a false story about falling down the stairs didn't seem to have been enough to actually talk to him. Would it kill him to ask him how he's feeling after the whole ordeal? Stiles gets it, he does, he's new. Derek doesn't see to feel comfortable around new people.

And hell, Derek's probably just one of those guys that never really gets on with Stiles. The calm, quiet, ones that keep to themselves. The ones that are polar opposites to Stiles, who's loud, and outgoing and can't seem to keep still for longer than five seconds without wanting to burst into flames just to have an excuse to move.

He doesn't go to practice again that day, he hadn't seen Scott all day, even after the leeching at lunch he still wasn't feeling up to movement of any kind. It didn't stop him going to watch, though. Derek didn't seem to mind him skipping the last time so he doubts he'll have any qualms about doing it again considering he ''fell down the stairs'' last night.

It's not like he's even a vital part of the team, or anything. He's never played, never even been subbed onto the pitch, never been moved off the bench the entire time he's been on the team. He knows he's not the best player on the team, but would it kill Coach or Derek to at least give him a shot to prove himself? He works better under pressure anyway.

He's more than surprised when he gets there, mouth falling open in shock for a few satisfying moments. The twins are doing endless suicides again, and it's the most glorious thing he's ever seen. He's sitting closer this time than he was the last time he skipped, and he can see the pain they must be going through. Faces red and contorted, twisted in exhaustion and pain, bodies aching and trembling for them to stop moving for just a few seconds.

Derek is in his usual spot, arms folded over his chest as he watches the twins more than he watches the players practicing. The quirk to his lips tells Stiles that he's taking pleasure from watching, from being the one to endorse such pain. He looks satisfied with himself. He doesn't know what the twins have done to him to make him want to do this, but he's not even going to question it.

This time when Derek's eyes move over to him in the bleachers, he doesn't run away, just gazes right back until Derek eventually gets uncomfortable and blows on his whistle as he stalks over to the other players.

They interact one more time that day during Construction. Derek is as quiet and constipated as usual, the tension in the air is as thick as ever, and Isaac and Scott seem to be having just as much fun paired together than they did the last time. His scowl must give Derek's a run for it's money, but it's not like he's jealous or anything.

No, he just wants to be over there with them having fun and not have to deal with the fucking scowling black hole that seems to absorb anything that's fun. God, he used to like Construction, now he walks in, Derek barks orders at him and then ignores him for most of the class afterwards. He just doesn't want to have to deal with the guy anymore.

When the bell for last class chimes he sighs in relief. Ever since he got back from Christmas break school seems to have been prolonged by hours. It feels that way at least. He's managed to avoid Scott since lunch when he heads out the door, making way for his jeep. He's just about to turn the keys in the ignition when a fist taps the passenger window of the jeep.

Scott bends over, showing his face and doing so just in time to see Stiles wince. He sighs when Scott hops in, who can obviously sense his impatience. He knows what's coming, another talk about the twins. Scott just doesn't understand what it's like, he probably never will.

He flinches when Scott moves his arm towards him, palm flat against his black eye and leeching the pain away. With his free eye he can see the pain on Scott's face from his actions and he immediately feels a wave of guilt for it.

''Sorry,'' they say in unison, and Stiles has to fight a smile from forming on his lips. He looks away, melting into Scott's touch as his veins go black, pain seeping into him and out of Stiles. The guy's a miracle worker. ''You're avoiding me,'' Scott says calmly, softly, like he's afraid his words might break Stiles. The last thing he wants is for Scott to look at him like he's fragile, like he's just some _human_.

He knows Scott doesn't, though. He knows Scott thinks he's strong in more ways than just physically.

''I just don't want another lecture,'' he says honestly, and he'd feel guilty for being so blunt only it feels so good to not have to lie to anybody for once today. Scott takes his hand away, pressing the tips of his fingers into Stiles' arm and taking the aches away.

''I just don't want you getting hurt.'' He avoids Scott's gaze, even though he can feel it boring into him.

''I know, but Dude, you can't pressure me into something like this. I'll find my own way to deal with it.''

''What?'' he takes his hands away. ''Deal with it by taking a beating until we graduate next year? Deal with it by not fighting back?'' Stiles raises his hand in a dismissive manner.

''Scott, I'm not talking about this with you anymore. Just go home.'' Scott looks at him like a kicked puppy, because he knows Stiles can't be mad at that face. He huffs, looking away, staring at a mark of dirt on the wind screen. He hears Scott sigh, defeated, opening the door.

''I just don't want you getting hurt,'' Scott says before stepping out of the car. He stands at the open door, waits there and doesn't leave until Stiles gives him a nod to say that they're okay. It's a thing they've started doing, because both of them hate it when the other is mad at them and they don't know where they stand. At least this way, tomorrow they can see each other as if this exchange had never happened.

It's not like Scott can talk about secrets. How about his undying love for Allison Argent? If he can keep Scott's secret, Scott can sure as hell keep his. He drives away, passing Derek as he slips into his Camaro. As he finally rolls out the gates, he relaxes for the first time all day.

**Note: A character endures physical violence and pain as a form of bullying in this chapter. This includes kicking, punching, hair pulling, head trauma, black eye, bruising and holding said character's arms behind their back.**

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